


A Moonlight Christmas Carol

by RedemptionByFire (steelneena)



Series: Moonlight Universe [6]
Category: Twin Peaks
Genre: F/M, Gen, Inspired by A Christmas Carol, Yultide treat 2017
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-22
Updated: 2017-12-22
Packaged: 2019-02-18 09:26:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13097187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/steelneena/pseuds/RedemptionByFire
Summary: Dale's journey is just beginning, Christmas Eve 1989, and his fate hangs in the balance.





	A Moonlight Christmas Carol

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lynzee005](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lynzee005/gifts).



> God Bless Us Every One.

 

_ “Men's courses will foreshadow certain ends, to which, if persevered in, they must lead," said Scrooge. "But if the courses be departed from, the ends will change.” _

_~ Charles Dickens, A Christmas Carol_

 

Earle was dead, to begin with. There was no doubt whatsoever about that. His unnatural passing had been noted by the Sheriff, the FBI Agent and Miss Audrey Horne. Cooper witnessed it too. And Cooper was the best lawman in the business, according to those who knew him.  

Yes, Windom Earle was dead as a door-nail. 

The question remained, however, how a man who was dead as a door-nail had managed to stab Cooper. Cooper himself wasn’t sure. Neither was the FBI Agent, or Miss Audrey Horne. Or the Sheriff for that matter, when he finally found out. But it was Cooper who was particularly stumped, when, standing up from the pool of his own blood, (which looked much less crimson than he’d expected, mind) he realized exactly who it was had stabbed him. And in the exact same spot as before no less!

He looked briefly to the calendar. Circled in bright red was the date the 25th and x’s leading up to it ended on the 23rd. It was the 23rd. Or had been. Perhaps it was already the 24th. He was uncertain. The apartment was empty of any soul save his own, so Cooper wandered over to the still open door, it’s light giving off no warmth, only empty grayness. The white light from beyond, however, was what interested him. Cooper stepped into the hallway. It was the same as he remembered it, and yet it was different. Like it lacked a certain substance that colour and warmth naturally lent their surroundings. This hallway was barren; a facsimile of the world around him. His footsteps made no sound, his breath no wisp. No airflow surrounded him. A hushed, muted world was all that existed. 

Cooper walked through the hall, down the stairs and out into the night. He was in shirtsleeves only and his slacks. He looked down to see that his shoes were missing. Stocking-footed, Copper made his way through the lightly covered streets. As he passed an alleyway, he heard the moan. It was a wretched sound which sent shivers down his spine, and the terrible clanking of chains could suddenly be heard. In the dim grey glow, there he saw Windom. He was grey as the world around him, save for, when he looked up and spotted Cooper, the terrible fiery gleam in his eyes. 

“What are you?” Cooper asked, curious. 

“A revenant, a remainder! Just the last vestiges of the mangled mind of the man who was once  your partner, Windom Earle!”Dale recoiled. “Why’re you here?” 

“Do you not see my chains?” He lifted his hands then, and Dale saw the chain, shining steel, perfect and impenetrable. “I let unhappiness and discontent take me, my mind lost to madness through my pursuits, my life in shambles long ago. It was many a decade before when I lived, when last I was myself.”   


“But why come to me?” 

“Are you not also on this path? Did not Hoover once say that ‘The individual is handicapped by coming face-to-face with a conspiracy so monstrous he cannot believe it exists,’? And have you not come across this unfathomable conspiracy time and again? Does it not eat away at you? Are you not slowly losing yourself to it?” 

Dale shuddered in distaste. “Perhaps and perhaps not. I’ve never been like you, Windom. Never as long as I knew you at least,”

He pointed a bony white finger at Dale. “But you will! You will, mark my words! Tonight, you’ve be visited. Maybe these visits will do you some good, maybe not,”. 

“Visited?” Dale rounded on the apparition, but it followed his gaze and so he learned nothing more of it’s form. 

“Three spirits. They will test you and show you things. They cannot save you, only you can do that, but they can show you the way.” 

With those last words, Windom Earle’s ghostly body was condensed instantaneously into a pinprick of light which then extinguished into nothing. Stunned, Dale started for a moment. 

“Spirits…” he muttered thoughtfully and then went back into the apartment building, but, much to his surprise, found his rooms empty. 

“Audrey?” He called out. It was a hollow sound, and it didn’t echo like he was used to. The apartment was eerily silent. 

“Perhaps she went out,” he said to himself, and climbed into bed, fully clothed, which, for some reason, didn’t seem odd at all. Thoughts of Windom’s warning came rushing back when the clock, suddenly, struck one. 

But hadn’t it been no more than nine when they got home from dinner? Where could Audrey possibly be, he wondered, at such an hour? Dale didn’t have time to contemplate the peculiarity. The window blew open, the door banged shut and the curtains fluttered with a cold chill as snow began to drift in on the breeze and  _ something _ entered the room. 

It was Caroline. Or, at least, it looked like her. There was no mistaking the lovely creature. Her face was a pale blue, her lips almost navy they were so dark. The sunken eyes and hollowed cheeks too, were dark and cold, but there was a spark of something in those deep sockets that Dale still recognized. The realization did little to warm him, and, despite himself, he trembled. 

“Caroline…” his voice was barely loud enough to hear himself. 

“Dale Cooper,” She said, her tone as ethereal as her insubstantial form. Onething hand reached out for him and he unwittingly flinched. 

“What do you want from me, Caroline?” 

She had no breath, but the steam of cold floated about her like gossamer moonlight and her hair moved though the breeze had stilled. “I am the Ghost of Christmas Past. Come and see,”

When her hand reached him, it was like dry ice, so frigid that he penetrated to his bones and he shivered with the whole of his being, but he pulled off the covers and stood up from the bed, following her pull. 

“What will you show me, Ghost?” He asked. 

“Things that were. Things you have forgotten. Things you need to remember,” 

“Why are you here for me? And why now?” 

But she only looked through him, like the spirit she was and repeated, “Come and See,” 

Dale grasped her icy hand in his own, felt the chill spreading like frost and watched as his fingers blackened with it, numbed and deadened, but he did not let go. They passed through the window frame with ease, out into the black night of Christmas Eve. 

 

When they stopped, the wind had chilled the rest of him, but Dale took no notice; the sight before him was too incredible. A veritable feast of a Christmas dinner was laid out on a rather familiar looking table, in an altogether far too familiar looking kitchenette. The flooring was a tacky greenish vinyl and the wood was a soft maple, not quite rustic, but just nice. Tinsel garlands crowned the enormous china hutch, and the points were steepled with red velveteen bows.  

“This is my parents house,” he wondered aloud in awe. And there, through the doorway and into the living room, he could see himself, sitting on the couch (peachish in colour) kicking his legs back and forth where they didn’t yet touch the ground, reading a backissue of  _ Planet Stories _ magazine. “That’s a Ray Bradbury story I’m reading,” He marveled. “I bought it on the corner the day before when I went out for rolls. Mom asked…” 

He turned in place and there, behind him at the stove, in a halo of golden warmth, was his mother, pulling a pie out of the oven. 

Dale was speechless. 

“Frank, come in here please and get the cork on that wine bottle, will you?” She called out, voice ringing like the finest of bells. He’d forgotten! He’d forgotten the sound of her voice, the honey colour of her hair, the charming green on her eyes, the smirk she reserved for her husband and son. Maggie-Ann Grey Cooper. Tear stung at his eyes, cold and glassy as they were, in the wake of her warmth.

“Comin’ sweetheart,” Frank called, and even from his voice, Dale was able to picture the man, youthful and spry as he hadn’t been in years. Dale’s father walked in and straight through Dale and the Ghost that looked like Caroline, and Dale stiffened. 

“They cannot see you, nor hear you, for these are only shadows of things that are past,” Caroline intoned, soft as a snowflake falling upon the ground. 

“Dale! Come in here and help your mother!” Frank called, and Dale the elder watched as Dale the younger checked the page of his magazine, set it neatly on the couch and fairly vaulted off. 

“Is it almost time for dinner?” 

“Soon,” His mother smiled. Both Dales smiled back concurrently. “Can you get the cranberry’s open and then call your brother down?”

“Sure thing,” The child that was Dale replied, as he went to the pantry. 

Dale took in a sharp breath. “Of course,” He said. “The last Christmas before Emmett left us.” 

The spirit pointed and Dale’s gaze followed. He watched himself work open the cranberries, slicing the gelatin onto the glass dish with ease into equal pieces. “You want this on the table, Mom?” He asked. 

“Yes please, sweetheart,” 

They followed the youth as he completed the task and then, up the stairs, which he took two at a time, to Emmett’s room. Dale’s parent’s house had been sold many a year before, and it was like sweeping aside the cobwebs of memory as he ascended the stair with Caroline, each step brightening the room with golden light, except where they stood, the boundary between life and memory. 

Young Dale rapped on his brother’s door. “Emmett! Supper’s ready and Mom wants you downstairs,” 

The door opened and out stepped his brother, exactly the way he’d looked when Dale last remembered seeing him, preserved perfectly over the long, long decades.  _ I will call you, when I get back _ , Dale resolved, remembering his promise to Audrey. 

“Hey kiddo,” Emmett teased, and ruffled his little brother’s perfectly combed hair. The child scowled, but his brother passed down the stairs without paying him another lick of attention. Dale remembered the feeling and heart heart stung. His brother, so much older than he, had never quite had the time or the patience for him. And young Dale, had always looked up to his brother, hoping one day that they would share an easy camaraderie, like so many of his friends did with their siblings. 

Dale sighed for himself, as he knew it would never come to pass. The next summer, Emmett would be gone to Canada, and Dale wouldn’t see or hear from him again. 

The Ghost looked at him removedly, if perhaps a bit forlorn. “You cannot change what is passed. The child Dale longed for the companionship that brotherhood brings, and he did not receive it. It was no fault of his then - he was but a child. What could he have done then?”

“Yes, but I did nothing after. Emmett wanted nothing to do with me.” 

The Ghost said nothing in reply, but took his hand and led him back down the stair. The family was sat round the table then, eating, laughing merry making. Their happiness was evident and it made Dale’s thought about the Christmases that were yet to come unbearable. Holidays were different after Emmett left, and in a few short years, his mother would be dead. And then it would just be Dale and his father, alone. 

The day sped by in the blink of an eye and suddenly, young Dale was nowhere to be seen and only his older brother and parents remained in the darkened living room. 

“Another Christmas,” His mother signed happily. “Everything set? No last presents to bring out of hiding?”

“Nope, brought the last one down after Dale went to bed,” His brother said, pointing. “I didn’t want him finding it.” He picked up the magazine that had been left lying on the couch when supper was called. “He’s obsessed with finding these reprint issues, so I figured I’d just buy him the book instead.” 

“I’m sure he’ll love it, Emmett,” Their father said, and then looked at his watch. “Looks about time we all headed up too,” 

“Yeah, looks like,” Maggie-Ann said. She stood and gave Emmett a kiss on the cheek. You’re a good big brother, you know. He really looks up to you.” 

“He’s not such a bad kid,” Emmett joked, and smiled shyly and the scene, before Dale could even react, dissipated away into…

“Where are we Caroline?” He asked, looking around. “The old Philadelphia offices?”

“I am not Caroline,” The spirit reminded him. “We are still in Christmas Past. Do you not remember this day?” She spread her arms out, as if to share the scene with him. The aisles bustled with life, people laughing, popping party hats on one another, shuffling last minute reports into superiors mail slots, finishing up fingerprint analyses and perp evals. The office the day before Christmas. “There, look on, and see.” 

Dale himself wound his way between the desks, holding a stack of files, a smile on his face but a serious look in his eyes. 

“I do. I do remember this Christmas,” He acknowledged, watching his younger self. We had a killer on the loose and-” 

“Coop!” It was Albert’s voice that both Dale’s heard, looking his direction simultaneously. “ Coop! Have you got that report?” 

“You bet Albert, it’s right…” He shuffled some papers back and forth in his arms. “Ah! Here. There you are. Are you getting out of here anytime soon, Albert? Got anywhere special to be?” 

“Why go somewhere special when I can be here with all of these schmucks until all hours?” He groused, obviously in poor spirits. Dale’s smiles fell. The counterpart looking on shook his head sadly, but with a hint of amusement.

“Whatever you say, Albert.” he replied before moving on. 

The Dale who was traveling with the spirit turned to it. “I do remember! Albert was in such a bad move but-” Across the room, Dale watched himself hide a present for Albert in the man’s coat pocket. “I never did find out what he thought…” Dale mused, but it seemed as though his long held inquiry would finally have an answer. 

“Night Albert, Gordon!” the Dale of the past called out as he entered the elevator. Some time passed and one by one desks were cleared and lamps switched off until only Albert remained,  burning the midnight oil. Then, nearly midnight, he put away his files and pulled on his coat, readying to leave. 

“What the-” Albert reached into his pocket. A wood box, wrapped with a bow rested in his hand. He undid the bow and opened the box to find a new Seiko watch with a dark leather band. A small card was inside. 

“Have a Holly Jolly one, Scrooge,”. Albert read aloud. “Hmph. I’ll show him Scrooge,” Albert muttered, but a grin cracked across his face and he put the watch on before leaving, a mild spring newly added to his step. 

“I did notice that he wore it, but this was lovely to see, thank you, Caroline,” Dale looked to the figure, which hovered expectantly. “Where to next?” 

He took it’s arm and they flew away across the night and back through the window of his long familiar apartment. “Is that all? Windom told me I would be visited, but it seems incomplete somehow.” 

The spirit was gliding away from him. “There is still more to come,” it whispered, light as the wind, and was gone before Dale could open his mouth to respond, instead, he climbed into bed, fully clothed, and closed his heavy eyes.

  
  


He was hardly returned to his room and nearly asleep before the clock chimed again and the room grew warm. Bright, suddenly, like a blazing fire had been set in some non-existent fireplace. 

Diane - or what appeared to be Diane - materialized out of nothing in the center of the room. Unlike the previous Ghost, Diane was not a pale, frigid creature, but held all the same warmth as the room. Indeed, she appeared to be exuding it. 

“Diane,” he uttered, uncertain.. 

“Not Diane, you idiot. I just look like her. But you already know that, don’t you?”

Dale opted to nod. 

“I’m the Ghost of Christmas Present,” 

“I was with your kin, only a moment fore. A spirit of the past. She showed me much,” 

“Come, see what you’re missing,” She gestured to him and he got up from the bed, still heedless of his absent shoes, and went to her. 

Together they dissipated in the glow of the unseemly bright light and when Dale was cognizant once more, he found himself in unfamiliar surroundings. The space in which he stood was bleach white and unnaturally quiet. There was a table - formica - and chairs like belonged in a cafeteria, and windows opening to a drab, grey parking lot. The snow there was murkey too, soiled by a hundred vehicles passing through in the course of time since it had fallen. 

He heard a clacking of heels, but, before he could turn, the owner of said heels walked through him. Physically through him!

It was Audrey. 

He breathed her name softly, but she didn’t hear him, as inaudible to her as he was invisible and intangible. 

Albert walked over to her as well as Dale and Not-Diane watched on. 

“Do you want me to take you home, Aud?” He asked. “The police have finished up,” 

“No. No, Albert. Let’s stay here. There’s no point in going home.” 

“It’s Christmas Eve, Audrey. This is a hospital. The most cheerless place in the world, excepting maybe a warzone. Why stay? There’s nothing you can do - you’be already been here since 10 last night. Let me take you home. You can get some rest and come back later,” 

“No, Albert. Let’s have Christmas here,” 

“Okay Aud,” Albert conceded. 

Dale watched on in alarm. “What’s happened? Why are they here in the hospital? Who’s hurt?” 

The spirit smiled wryly. “That’s not important right now,” She insisted. 

“But - “ 

“Just watch,” 

Time was immaterial to Dale in this state and, in what seemed the blink of an eye, the small alcove had been transformed, with all the trimmings and trappings: a tablecloth, a poinsettia and Audrey, Albert Gordon and Denise, all present drinking wine (one of Gordon’s no doubt.). 

“What a holiday,” Denise muttered between sips. “Nothing like Christmas in the hospital,” 

“It’s not the first time and it won’t be the last,” stated Albert realistically, his tone grave. 

“STILL IT’S A DAMN SHAME,” Gordon was promptly shushed by all present and sipped his wine in consternation. 

Dale spotted Audrey then, still dressed as she had been before, looking less radiant than usual. Her glass of wine was untouched.  

“C’mon Audrey. The best way to get through this is with a good outlook. Let me tell you about my last Christmas with Dale,” 

Dale groaned loudly and Not-Diane slapped him on the shoulder, despite the fact that no one could hear him. The whole group congregated around the table for Denise’s story. 

“We were in Mexico at the time. Lovely place to be for the Holidays - they do love Christmas in Mexico! - and it was almost perfect, except for the fact that we were trying to root out a drug lord. Anyways, Dale decided that he wanted a taste of the local traditions, so we followed up with our concierge at the motel. She told us when the procession was going to start and where we should be to watch it, so Dale and I get all done up - suits, ties, the works - and we head out at 10:50pm. The procession started at 11 and we needed to get to the city plaza on time. And damn if this city wasn’t crowded on Christmas! So we’re making our way there when we see this lady in a nice dress - traditional - and a black lace mantilla, trying to move a donkey! It’d sat itself down in the middle of the road. So Dale says “Excuse me ma’am, but I think I can help move your donkey -”.

Dale felt an off sense come over him as he watched Danise tell the story, their friends and Audrey laughing as she did so at the humorous bits. When the story of how Dale helped the woman portraying Mary in the procession with her Donkey was over, Audrey stood. 

“I’d better call Harry,” She said.

Before Dale could ask the spirit any questions, they once again faded into another setting. Harry was sitting with Hawk at the Sheriff’s station in Twin Peaks, his head in his hands. 

“Harry, it’s not like it’s your fault,” Hawk stated consolingly. “Why don’t you take the night off? Go home, and get some rest,” 

Harry let one hand fall and it pounded the table so hard Dale flinched. Harry didn’t say a word. 

“Spirit,” Dale asked. “What’s wrong?” 

“If you pay attention, you might learn something,” It responded wryly, a perfect facsimile of Diane. 

Dale listened. 

“There’s nothing you can do here and no flights out until January second. Why don’t you just take it easy, Harry.” Hawk tried again, to no avail. “I’m sure they’ll call you again with news. We all will be wanting to know,” 

Dejectedly, Harry seemed to acquiesce. 

“Someone is ill or in trouble,” Dale surmised, feeling as though he was missing something crucial...something terribly obvious was escaping his notice. 

“Indeed,” The spirit concluded. 

“And what’s that to do with me?” He asked, finally feeling perturbed. “What’s the whole point in this exercise? First Christmases of my past and now this of my present. Why? To what purpose?” 

“The night’s not over yet,  _ Federale _ ,” The spirit taunted, wagging a finger. “But this journey is.” 

  
  


Dale blinked and opened his mouth to protest, but found himself sitting back on his bed, alone, the warm colour of the room when he left it gone, faded away, leaving only the blackness of night behind. Perturbed, Dale ran a hand through his hair and thought about the events of the night. To what purpose was all of this? He wondered, but it was fruitless. He stood, intending to go make himself some coffee, when an unearthly pallorous glow darkened the room substantially more, and faded it out, a deathly grey. 

In the doorway, waiting for him, was the final Spirit. The Ghost of Christmas Future. Margaret Lanterman stroked her log. Her eyes bellied no kindness or cruelty, no shrewd calculations. Only emptiness, deeper that the void. It was this hollow glare that frightened Dale above all else. 

“Take me where you will,” he said, and uncharacteristically, she uttered not a word. But then, it was not truly Margaret Lanterman. She reached out one arm, the other securely cradling the log, and grasped it firmly. They went nowhere. Dale, confused, spun around. The surrounding around him were the same, but altered; it was day time in his apartment. A Christmas tree loomed in the corner in her peripherals. Audrey sat in her chair. Or at least, Dale assumed it to be her. It was her dark hair, after all, peeking over the chair back. She spoke, and confirmed his suspicions. 

“-It’s been a long year, Dale. I can’t believe it’s already been so long. It feels like yesterday,”  

Something in him dared not approach. “Tell me, spirit, why do I feel this terror?”

“Sometimes, what can be is knowable to those who are ill prepared to know and little like what they learn. When this occurs, usually, it is a question, the answer to which they already know, but which not to acknowledge,”

Fear coiled tight within him, but Dale stepped forward. Audrey came into view. She was holding a framed photo and tears streamed down her cheeks. “I’m sorry, Dale. if I’d gotten there sooner…” She signed heavily, the sigh of one in mourning, and picked up an object from the table. His recorder…

_ “December 23rd 1:02 pm. Denise called to check if we’re still on for tonight. Of course, we are! Audrey has a new little black dress, which I love and I know she’ll be wearing it tonight! I can’t wait to give her an early present too, to go with it maybe. She’ll adore the diamond earings!”  _

The tape ended with a click. He turned to the spirit. “Let me comfort her. Whatever is wrong, allow me that much,” 

“You are blind to your own fate, but, like every person it is in the path laid before you which you have the least ability to see.”

Caught in her gaze, he barely noticed as the world change around them. Gordon and Albert stood in a cemetery, heads bowed. “Albert?” Gordon asked, his voice at a reasonable decibel for once. “Do you suppose that I doomed you all? This Blue Rose business…”

“Nah, Gordon. It’s not your fault. Maybe it’s just fate. Maybe it was happenstance. I don’t know. But you couldn’t have done anything to prevent it.” The two men turned and walked away, leaving Dale alone in the cold and the mist. He hesitated for hardly a moment before, feeling the empty eyes of the spirit upon him, he started forward. 

There, where the two had stood, was the headstone. 

**DALE BARTHOLOMEW COOPER**

April 19, 1954 - December 24, 1989

Friend, Son, Lawman, Beloved

_ “When morals decline and good men _

_ do nothing, Evil flourishes,”  _

_ -J. Edgar Hoover. _

 

Even though he’d subconsciously known the truth, reality hit him like a punch to the gut, and he collapsed to his knees. “How do I prevent this? Must it come to pass?”

“The future is what you make of it. Nothing more, or less,” It responded cryptically. 

“I want to live. There is so much of life I… I want to live in it. I want to have a future, Spirit, I want….I want to truly live. I haven’t been, have I? Not really, not recently. I’ve been too preoccupied with the past or the future, never the moment. I haven’t been enjoying it the way I should, seeing the present for what it is, how much I’ve-” He choked on the words. “How much I’ve missed. How much they care. I won’t let it go to waste. Please. Please!” He cried out, distraught. The spirit didn’t speak and Dale felt its emptiness seeping into him, the grey of it’s unsubstantiated nature encroaching like rot. Too terrified to make a sound, the world instead faded to black. 

  
  


The beeping was the first thing he noticed. Rhythmic but quick. Mostly annoying. He felt his finger twitch, which, for some reason, elated him. He felt numbed, like he was floating and a dull throb below his sternum ached which each tenuous breath. Rueful of the anticipation of light, his eyes cracked open and the sight before him settled his racing heart. 

Audrey. 

She sat curled up in the chair beside his hospital bed, sleeping fitfully. She had bruises beneath her eyes from lack of sleep, and her hair, usually so immaculate, was disheveled. 

“Audrey,” He rasped painfully, startling her from her sleep. 

“Dale! Oh God! Oh, God, Dale!” She was hovering around his before he had even half a chance to react, but moving was the least desirable activity he could think of, so it didn’t much matter. “Nurse!” She called out, taking his hand in hers as she did. “Oh, Jesus, Dale you scared me.” 

“Love you,” He forced out and she squeezed his hand tightly, running the fingers of her free hand through his hair. 

Tears glistening in her eyes, she smiled. “I love you too,” Audry leaned in and pressed a kiss to his forehead. “Merry Christmas, Dale,” 

Once the nurses arrived, the rest of the day went by in a haze of sleep, drugs, bliss and alternately pain. Visitors came and went - his father and Shamrock, Gordon and Albert. Denise. The real Diane - but Dale was harley able to focus on any of it. As the day wound down and Audrey was his only constant visitor (his Dad and Shamrock had eventually been persuaded to return to the apartment for a good night’s sleep) Dale managed some lucidity. 

“What happened?” He asked finally, realizing that he didn’t really know. 

“It was Windom Earle,” She shuddered with her whole body. “He stabbed you. But I shot him. He’s...He’s dead, Dale. He’s dead and I killed him. He can’t hurt you,” 

“Not your fault...Couldn’t have...done anything else...saved me,” 

“I know,” She whispered, strangely detached as she petted his hair. A split second later she began to cry like the girl she still really was. Dale’s heart welled with love and anguish. Nothing was ever easy for them, it seemed. But maybe, that would change. 

“Worth it,” He intoned, struggling through the breaths. “Now we can...start over. New leaf. New future. With you,” He was crying too, but he didn’t notice it until she reached out to wipe away the tears from his cheek. A spark of inspiration came to him. “Left pocket, Slacks,” he pointed, lifting his hand slightly for from the mattress. 

Audrey went over to his things (a bit reluctant to be even mere feet away from him) and pulled out a box. 

“Merry Christmas, Darling,” He said, managing a smile. 

Inside the box were the diamond earrings, which he’d never gotten the chance to give her. Audrey’s face shone with happiness as she looked from the gift to Dale. 

“Thank you, Dale, they’re lovely. But I already have everything I wanted,” And she kissed him tenderly. “Merry Christmas, Dale,” 

All things considered, it was, indeed, a Merry Christmas. Dale wasn’t sure if what he’d experienced had been real or merely the dream product of rapid fire neurons, severe blood loss, trauma and a drug cocktail, but it didn’t really matter. He’d seen what he’d needed to see and he too had everything he wanted in life. Audrey crawled onto the bed next to him gently, curling into his side and together they fell away into sleep, safe and contended as a quiet white snowfall descended outside the window, silent, still and at peace. 

  
  


 


End file.
